


Conversation (and Carnage)

by ahab2692



Series: Blood in the Water, Fire in the Sky: A Love Story [5]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Consent Issues, Dark, F/M, Gen, M/M, Original Character(s), Power Play, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-30
Updated: 2012-03-30
Packaged: 2017-11-02 18:07:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/371852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ahab2692/pseuds/ahab2692
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles attempts to negotiate with the Alpha. Derek attempts to negotiate with Meredith Wakefield.</p>
<p>Hidden agendas lie beneath the surface. Everything is not as it seems.</p>
<p>(Sequel to "The Wicker Throne and the Werewolf King.")</p>
            </blockquote>





	Conversation (and Carnage)

**Author's Note:**

> ATTENTION: I know I've chosen not to use archive warnings for this series, but I feel somewhat obligated to warn everyone that this particular installment contains some very graphic violence towards the end. (Also some non-con related thematic material. Which is not graphic at all, but I thought I should mention it in case some readers might be triggered by that kind of stuff.)

There’s a road along the California coast that cuts a jagged line through the cliffside canyons, dipping down through the mountain pass to run up against the edge of the water where the waves crash up on the rocky shore in the night like great dark monsters of the deep leaping for freedom from the shackles of their ocean prison.

It’s a living thing, the road. It has stories to tell, of pain and of pleasure, of joy and sorrow. Families have travelled its way many a time to reach the beaches down at the shoreline, to make camp and have picnics and share quality time and make fond memories. Gangland turf wars have led wide-eyed teenagers with sagging pants and shaking hands to drive up to the bluff and open the trunks of their cars, dragging their rivals out by the scruffs of their necks and shooting them in the back of the head, letting their bodies drop off the side of the road down to rocks and the water below.

The road is winding and long and narrow, and it eventually leads away from the water’s edge, back inland through the canyon and up the hills to the plateau where the Wakefield orange groves overlook the sprawling expanse of the Pacific with the detached safety of distance and higher ground.

It was in this place that the girl called Meredith grew to adulthood, raised under the roof of a three story house formed from quartzite and airbrushed white to glow under the splendor of the California sky. Her mother died in childbirth, and so her father Thomas reared her and her brother Sean on his own in their sun-soaked paradise.

They grew, she and Sean, to become precocious children, willful and independent-minded, and this put them odds with Thomas, who was raised by his own father under a set of strict principles and ruled his house with an iron fist. He taught them to hunt the creatures of the wild, and in his study hung the family emblem: a knight on a white horse, sword drawn and held skyward, the skewered head of a wolf dangling from his clenched fist.

Sean had a distaste for killing and came to resent his father, lashing out by taking in wounded animals in secret, hiding them in the grotto down at the base of the plateau and nursing them to health. Meredith loved her brother, but adored her father as well in spite of her need for independence, and was torn between the two and their ongoing conflict. She chose to keep her brother’s secret to herself, but did not join him on his private outings into the wild to commune with nature.

The first time Thomas brought home a werewolf, bloodied from a vicious beating and bound by solid chains, Meredith felt a mixture of confusion and wonder. Her father had never asked for help killing a man before.

“He is no man,” Thomas said sternly, gripping her tightly by the shoulders, trying to shake sense into her. “He is half-man, half-beast. And that, in its own way, is worse than either. At least the coyote is purely an animal. This thing is an abomination, and it must be put down for the sake of humanity.”

Meredith cried a little as her father stabbed the man to death, plunging a knife into his heart and twisting until the light faded in his eyes, but she helped him clean the blood afterwards and smiled brightly when he wiped the tears from her cheeks.

“Did I do good, Daddy?” she asked, and he ruffled her hair.

“You did great,” he said. “You did perfect.”

Sean just sat in the corner, glaring in silence.

***

The Alpha claps his hands, and a handful of werewolves enter the room through the great stone door, bringing with them a small round table and a wooden stool. They lay these down before the throne, and the Alpha sits again, gesturing for Stiles to join him.

“Come,” he says. “Sit with me a while. I’ll have them bring food and drink so we may dine together.”

Stiles doesn’t answer, but he obeys, taking a seat, rickety stool creaking under even his light weight. “Where’s Lydia?” he asks before the Alpha can speak again. “I swear, if you’ve hurt her-”

“She’s fine,” the Alpha interrupts, and Stiles shudders at the voice; it’s rich and deep and weirdly attractive in a way, but there’s an undercurrent of venom and malevolent cunning that cuts deep and prickles the hairs on the back of Stiles’ neck. “I’ve locked the girl in the library so we can talk in private.” He turns his masked head toward the men standing guard, glaring them down until they back out of the chamber, leaving him alone with Stiles.

“The library?” Stiles asks incredulously as the door shuts behind him, curious in spite of himself. “You have a library in a mine shaft?”

The Alpha chuckles again in that chalky sing-song way. “We have many things here. This is our den. It’s our home.”

“It’s charming,” Stiles says sarcastically. “Really.”

The Alpha tilts his head, staring at Stiles through the bottomless pits of those eyeholes. It’s disconcerting, not being able to see his eyes burning behind them. “Shall we wait for our meal?” he asks, ignoring Stiles’ remark. “Or do you want to get down to negotiations straight away?”

Stiles folds his arms across his chest, partly in a gesture of defiance, but mostly to shield himself from the sudden chill in the room. “What makes you think I’m here to negotiate at all?” He raises an eyebrow in challenge. “Who says I’m not just here to kill you?”

The werewolf snorts in response, and even with the mask concealing his face, Stiles can imagine the amused sneer. It reminds him of Jackson somehow, albeit a hundred times more menacing. “You and the girl,” the Alpha says. “You came alone. Didn’t bring anyone actually useful in combat, which leads me to believe that you’d rather have all your fighting forces grouped together. For defensive purposes.” He leans back in the throne, a clawed fingernail scratching idly at the armrest. “Your plan, if you _were_ simply here to kill me, is pretty spectacular in its stupidity. I mean, you were...what? Just going to walk in here with a single gun that you’ve never used before, and...somehow get past an entire pack of werewolves, find and kill me, and then...what? That’s it? That’s the whole plan?”

“We’ve used the gun,” Stiles replies evenly, mind flashing back to the image of the scout snarling as he threw himself off the side of the cliff.

As if reading his thoughts, the Alpha makes a soft noise and says, “Ah, yes. Travis. I’d forgotten about that.” He leans forward in the wicker chair, tapping the table pointedly. “That’s a curious thing. There was really no reason for you to do that.” He cocks his head to the side, staring at Stiles intently, laser focused. “Unless, of course, you are trying to convince me that your being captured by my pack was _not_ part of your plan.” Seeing the startled expression on Stiles’ face, he chuckles and leans back, satisfied. “That’s it, isn’t it? I’m impressed. Killing a man to try and sell yourself as a naive kid who doesn’t know what he’s doing, just for the sake of your plan. That’s cold. I like it.”

“We gave him a chance,” Stiles retorts, but the doubt in his voice is obvious even to himself. “He could have gone back to town if he wanted. Could have tried to save himself. He chose suicide. That’s not on me.”

“Oh, really? He could have just gone to the local grocery store and picked up a remedy for wolfsbane poisoning?” the Alpha snickers. “Don’t bullshit yourself. You’re too smart for that.”

“You don’t know that,” Stiles says angrily. “What the hell do you know about me?”

“I know plenty,” the Alpha responds readily. “I know you want me to think you came to kill me because you don’t want to seem too eager to negotiate. And you _are_ here to negotiate, aren’t you? You may not like it, and it might not be what you told your dear friend Lydia when you convinced her to tag along with you, but it’s why you’re here. You know you can’t win against us, and you know you can’t win against Meredith Wakefield. So you’re looking for an out. _And_ you know you can’t bargain with _her_ because...well, she’s insane, so you’re hoping now that I am willing to offer you something she will not.”

Stiles doesn’t answer.

The Alpha stares at him, cracking his knuckles one by one. “I’m right, aren’t I?” he continues. “You care about your friends’ lives more than you care about getting revenge or proving your dominance over another pack. You’re here to make a deal.”

Stiles’ shoulders slump in resignation. “Fine,” he says shortly. “I’m here to make a deal. Happy?”

“Yes,” the reply comes, sincere and without mockery. The Alpha stares at him for a few seconds more, than slowly reaches up to remove his mask.

Stiles can’t help the quiet gasp that escapes from the back of his throat.

The werewolf’s face is...completely normal-looking. Handsome, even. He’s in his mid to late 20s; his jaw is angular, his eyes milky blue. His hair is earth-brown, and dark stubble peppers his cheeks and the area around his chin and mouth. No scars and scratches, no off-kilter features of any kind. Apart from his disturbing garb, there’s nothing to suggest anything dangerous.

He seems to know it, too, because his mouth twists upward at one side as he looks at Stiles in amusement.

“Not what you expected?” he asks softly.

Stiles shrugs in a halfhearted attempt to appear nonchalant. “I guess not. No. Not really. Not at all.”

“You really ought to rid yourself of the antiquated notion that inner evil is always reflected outwardly.” The Alpha extends his claw, and its morphs into a human hand before Stiles’ eyes. “My name is David. David Moss.”

“You live in a dark, scary room in a _mine_ ,” Stiles says, ignoring the offered hand, “you’re wearing _that_ getup, and you’re giving me the don’t-judge-a-book-by-its-cover lecture? Seriously?”

David smiles, white-toothed and sharklike. Stiles shivers. “Perhaps my timing is poor, but the point is nevertheless valid.” He pulls his hand back, and it immediately shape-shifts back its wolflike form.

“Business,” Stiles says firmly, changing the subject. “Let’s get down to business.”

David cocks an eyebrow, still smiling. “Alright. What exactly do you want from me?”

“What are you prepared to offer?” Stiles responds, heart beating nervously in his chest. David’s smile widens, and Stiles knows he can hear it.

“That depends on what you’re willing to give.”

Stiles shifts in his seat, uncomfortable under the steady gaze of those piercing eyes. “Well, like you said, I want my friends to be safe. No killing.” He waits for a few seconds, and when David doesn’t respond, he adds, “That’s the key thing right there. No one dies. No bloodshed. If you can guarantee that, I’m open to discussing whatever terms you may have.”

David strokes his chin thoughtfully. His eyes flicker over Stiles’ body, his tongue darting out briefly to swipe across his upper lip.

The blood in Stiles’ veins runs cold and he stills, frozen. “No,” he says preemptively, then flushes at David’s amused smirk.

“No what?” The werewolf’s toes curl up against his soot-coated sandals. “I haven’t said anything.”

“Just no,” Stiles says, face red, breathing shallowly and looking determinedly anywhere else. “I know what you’re thinking, and _that_ is not on the table.”

David’s smirk turns nasty. “You know what I’m thinking, do you?”

“Yes. That look you gave me. I may be a teenager, but I’m not stupid. I know what it means.”

“Uh huh.” David stands abruptly, moving around the table to stand behind Stiles. “And would that, perchance, be because you’ve already seen it before? From Peter Hale?”

And _fuck_ , how do these goddam werewolves _do_ that?

Stiles doesn’t say anything, holding his breath as David’s hands - human now - come down to rest upon his shoulders, capturing them in a vice-like grip.

“Do you know how orangutans reproduce?” David asks mildly, and Stiles’ fear is temporarily replaced with confusion.

“Excuse me?”

“Orangutans,” David repeats, thumb rubbing against Stiles’ collarbone, and Stiles really wants to swat it away, but resists the urge. “Unflanged orangutans. Do you know how they reproduce?” Without waiting for Stiles’ response, he continues, “I do. My father was the caretaker for the local zoo in my hometown. He took me to work with him on weekends when I was young, and he told me all about the different animals. I didn’t appreciate it all that much as a child, but I’m glad now that he took the time to do that for me. Fascinating stuff.”

Stiles swallows as David’s forefinger drifts up to run across his throat. “I’m sorry. I don’t understand what this-”

“I’m arriving at the point,” David interrupts. “As I was saying, there is a certain offset of orangutans that I’m referring to here, the ones that lack the specific characteristics of the flanged bunch. Once they reach the age of sexual maturity, these apes roam in search of a female, and unlike the flanged orangutans, once they find a mate, they will take her by force.” His fingers curl into a loose fist, gently squeezing Stiles’ throat, his breath tickling the back of his neck. “I always found that remarkable. It struck me as a curious anomaly of nature.”

He squats down slowly, gripping Stiles’ chin between his fingers, turning the boy’s head so as to look into his eyes. “Don’t you find curious?” he asks softly, eyes lingering on Stiles’ lips. “Don’t you find it bizarre that nature would require a species to procreate through forced sex?”

The inside of Stiles’ mouth feels dry. He’s not sure if he’ll ever be able to breathe again.

But then David’s backing away, releasing Stiles’ face and returning to his chair, hands shape-shifting back into claws. “Don’t worry,” he says, and Stiles feels a throb of anger at the mocking tone of his voice. “My taste has always tilted pretty much solely in favor of the female form.” He sucks in his lower lip, eyes drifting downward once more, and Stiles feels the perverse urge to cross his legs and cover his chest with his arms. “However, I must admit I see what Peter saw in you. What Derek sees.” His eyes smolder, burning red with heat. “You are quite beautiful, you know. And you have the all the desirable traits one looks for in a mate.”

Another burst of anger cuts through Stiles’ fear, and he retorts, “Well, I can’t say the same for you. Derek’s never threatened to rape me.”

David’s eyes flash triumphantly, and a sly expression replaces his lustful gaze. “Hold onto that thought,” he says smugly. “Because I’m going to get back to it. But in the meantime, I’ll clarify what I meant: I _could_ take you for my own.” His face turns hard, unsmiling and dangerous. “If I so desired, you wouldn’t really have a choice in the matter. I could follow in the footsteps of my predecessors. They saw fit to force themselves upon the objects of their attraction, and - pay attention because this is my point, here - _if_ I wanted to, I could have you. I could do that. Do you understand?”

Stiles swallows thickly, Adam’s apple bobbing. “Yes.”

“Good.” David relaxes, expression softening into mock-kindness once more. “And again, you don’t need to worry. Even if you were a girl, my appetite for lasciviousness has never overpowered my common sense. We have business to attend to. Any...perks that may arise from our negotiations shall be simply that: perks.”

“What makes you think there will be any ‘perks’ at all?” Stiles snaps, putting air quotes around the word. “You’re the one who brought... _that_ into the discussion in the first place.”

David shrugs. “Oh, it’s not _necessary_ , I assure you. But I think you’ll soon come to agree that it’s the best solution to your problems as well as mine.

Stiles frowns. Because, really, what? “I don’t follow.”

“Let’s get back to that point from a minute ago,” David says airily, “The one about Derek.” He smiles knowingly. “He would have.”

“Would have what?” Stiles frown deepens. “Stop playing mind games. Talk straight with me.”

“He would have taken you by force,” David replies. “Given the proper conditions.”

Stiles’ heart skips a beat and, hearing it, David waggles his eyebrows mischievously.

“That’s not true,” Stiles says quietly. “You don’t know him. You’re just trying to fuck with me.”

“Perhaps so, but that doesn’t mean I’m wrong.”

The door creaks open, and the werewolf guards from earlier enter the chamber, carrying with them a large dusty bottle of wine and a cage containing five live rabbits. They set them down on the table, dipping their heads in respect for their Alpha and backing away quickly out of the room when he snarls lowly at them.

“Great leader,” Stiles says sarcastically when the door latches shut. “They must love you.”

David looks up at him seriously. “There are over a hundred of us, Stiles. Over a hundred  under my command if you include the children. Which I do. This isn’t the tight-knit family situation you have set up in Beacon Hills. I am their Alpha. Not their father, not their friend. The last Alpha who tried to rule with _love_ ” - he spits the word out with distaste - “had his throat slit in the night by an usurper. Her former best friend, to be exact. Fear is a necessity for controlling a pack this size.” He gestures with a wry grin at the room around them, at the wicker throne, at his outfit. “What do you think all of this is for? You think it’s here just because we’re all unhinged? It’s theatrics, kid. Showmanship.”

“You’re not going to eat those, are you?” Stiles asks, face paling as David plucks one of the rabbits from the cage.

In response, the Alpha snaps the little thing’s neck, killing it instantly. His eyes glow red and his fangs sprout forth, wet and glistening, and then he’s ripping into it, blood dribbling down his chin as the sound of teeth crunching into bone reverberates in the chamber.

Stiles covers his mouth and forces down the rising bile, looking away and trying to focus on anything other than those awful sounds.

“That’s fucking disgusting.”

David looks at him curiously. “It’s nature,” he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “It isn’t pretty, but it’s the way of the world.”

Stiles snorts, still not looking. “You know, you don’t have to be philosophical about everything,” he scoffs. “Especially about eating cute bunnies in front of your guest.”

“Is that what you are?” David asks, amused. “My guest?”

“I dunno.” Stiles shrugs. “You’re the one who said this is a negotiation, which seems to imply that we’re having a meeting between equals instead of me just being your prisoner. But I could be wrong.”

David wipes the juices off of his chin with the back of his hand, eyes trained carefully on Stiles. “Fair enough.” He drops the remains of the rabbit to the floor beside him with a gross thumping sound and sits back in his chair. “But I’m not being philosophical. I’m being direct. Nature, after all, is what we’re really talking about. It’s why we’re here in the first place.”

“You’re going to have to be a little less vague, dude,” Stiles replies, and David chuckles.

“I _love_ how snarky you are. Even when you’re afraid, you literally cannot control your wit. Amazing.” He sighs dramatically, wiping bits of flesh and blood off his claws. “He would have taken you for his own, regardless. Derek, I mean. You may not think that now, which is understandable. After all, why would you? Your feelings are mutual. You never had to find out.” He smiles coldly. “But I recognize the symptoms of lust out of control. I could spot them from a mile away. Travis - the scout you murdered, remember? - reported back to me about what he did to that hunter who tried to shoot you in the street that night.”

“He was protecting me,” Stiles interrupts, seriously disliking the direction of this conversation. “Any of the pack would have done the same.”

David shakes his head. “Even you don’t believe that. And even if you were right, they wouldn’t have done _that._ They wouldn’t have shredded him to bits like a piece of meat.” He leans forward conspiratorially. “You’re his world, boy. You have been for a long time now. Long before either of you ever discussed the possibility of sex.” That infuriating smirk is back now. “What do you think would have happened if you’d put off that little talk for another few weeks? Or worse, if you hadn’t returned his feelings? Do do you honestly believe he’d just leave it at that? Just give up and pack it in? Answer truthfully.”

Stiles feels doubt prickling at the back of his mind, and another wave of nausea rises up inside of him, but he pushes it aside and shakes his head vehemently. “Derek would never hurt me,” he says, firm and self-assured. “He’d kill himself before hurting me.”

David’s grin broadens. “And that proves me wrong, does it?” he drawls, smarmy and arrogant. “You don’t think it’s a bit telling that such drastic measures would have been necessary in such a situation?”

“I’m sorry, but I still don’t see your point in any of this.” Stiles folds his arms, scowling. “If you’re trying to turn me against Derek or against the pack, it’s not going to work.”

“I’m not trying to do anything.” David bends over, examining the remaining rabbits in the cage thoughtfully. “I’m just pointing out various truths. All related to our topic of focus.” He straightens up, opting to pop open the wine. “Nature,” he intones musingly, guzzling shamelessly from the bottle. “That is the point. Derek loves you, but he would have taken you anyway because it’s in his nature. You love him, and you love your friends, and you’ll do whatever is necessary to ensure their safety, even at risk to yourself. Ergo, you are here, trying to strike a deal with me because it’s in _your_ nature to be selfless.” He waves an arm vaguely around the room. “I’ve fashioned this place to strike fear in the hearts of my followers. I keep them afraid so they’ll stay in line, and I keep them in line because that ensures order. And I like order because _that_ is in _my_ nature. Are you beginning to understand now?”

Stiles nods carefully, slowly. “I think so. Sort of.”

David sets the bottle down on the table with a loud thwack, and Stiles jumps at the sound. The werewolf looks at him intently, expression deadly serious. “Here’s what I think,” he says, and his tone is professional and businesslike for the first time since the conversation began. “I think you know Derek will never submit to me willingly. And your pack will follow whatever decision he makes. So you’re here to submit for him. You want the bite.”

Stiles takes a deep breath. “Yes.”

“Thought so.” David smiles, not unkindly. “I’ll be honest, it’s not too shabby of plan, especially for someone as young as you. I can see how it makes sense: you submit to me, become part of my pack, and Derek falls in line out of loyalty to you. A bit conniving, but it’s sound logic.”

“Will you do it?” Stiles asks quietly, rolling down his sleeve to expose his wrist, holding it out tentatively. “Please? This works. No one has to die.”

“Not so fast.” David crosses his legs, fingernails plucking idly at the strands of hair binding the throne together. “You’re forgetting something.”

“What?” Stiles groans in frustration. “What is it?”

“Dominance in the werewolf kingdom is a tricky thing.” David examines his nails distractedly, sucking the remnants of rabbit tissue off one of them. “Take Travis, for example. Once he was in your custody, had Derek chosen to assert his rule, he could have done so. That little weasel was a weakling anyway. He would have gone down easy. All it would have taken was another administration of the bite and voila: his loyalty would have been transferred to your pack.”

“Okay,” Stiles says impatiently, still holding his arm out. “Point being?”

David looks at him witheringly. “Don’t be intentionally thick. You’re better than that.” He drums his fingers on the armrests of his chair, sprawled lazily with his feet propped up next to the rabbit cage. “Your loyalty is to Derek. It won’t matter if I give you the bite; he’ll still be able to make you his again.”

There’s something in the way he says it that implies an unspoken ‘unless,’ and Stiles voices it cautiously. “Unless...?” he says.

David eyes glow. “Unless...” He looks down at Stiles’ chest again.

Oh. “Oh,” Stiles says, heart thumping nervously.

“Oh,” David agrees, nodding. “The only way I can ensure your allegiance is to make you my mate.” A beetle crawls over the edge of the chair and onto his arm, and he flicks it away, splitting it in two. “Which I’ve agreed not to do,” he adds. “Not unless you consent.”

Stiles feels a little hysterical laugh bubble up in his chest. “You want my consent?” he asks bitterly. “You have no problems with _killing_ us, but you wouldn’t want to steal my virtue without permission, is that it?”

David’s calm deteriorates, genuine anger flashing across his face. Stiles shrinks away as he leans over the table, eyes burning hot in his skull. “Being one kind of monster doesn’t guarantee that I am _every_ kind of monster,” he snarls, spittle foaming at the corners of his mouth.

“Okay,” Stiles says in a small voice, and that seems to appease the Alpha, because he falls back, anger dissipating quickly.

“Don’t make assumptions about my character based on inconclusive evidence, Stiles,” he says softly. “Regardless of what you may have heard, I have no particular desire to kill you, or anyone else for that matter. Occasionally, yes, it is necessary, and I am not afraid to go there. But it doesn’t give me joy. It’s just the way things are.”

“But...that doesn’t make sense,” Stiles whines, voice coming out squeaky in a cocktail of fear and frustration. “You’re the Alpha. No one’s making you do anything. It’s your choice. You’re _deciding_ to do this to us.”

“Choice,” David scoffs. “There is no choice. Just the illusion of choice. Everything we do is in our blood. It’s been decided for us by nature. You can submit or you can fight. Natural impulses, either way. I can attack neighboring packs and maintain my title as Alpha, or I can rule with _love_ , as people like you would suggest, and be ousted from the throne as a weakling. And that, you naive child, is the full extent of choice that you and I have been gifted.”

A spark of boldness takes light in Stiles’ chest and he grits out, “Bullshit. You can believe that if it helps you feel like you’re not responsible for all the shit you’ve done, but it doesn’t make it true. You can’t hide behind the shield of it’s-in-my-nature. Not from me.”

David smiles dangerously. “Careful now. You don’t want to get my temper flaring.”

Stiles leans forward, chin raised in challenge. “Or what?” he replies coldly.

And then the table is being flung out of the way, crashing up against the cobblestone wall and falling to pieces, and Stiles is being knocked off his stool and slammed to the ground, the full length of David’s body pressed down against his own.

“Or I might have to reconsider whether or not I should behave like _that_ kind of monster,” he hisses in Stiles’ ear, tongue dancing out to run up the expanse of his neck.

Stiles shudders in revulsion, feeling the heat from the Alpha’s flesh burning up against him, sweat and arousal pungent as he breathes sharply in the musky air. “Please don’t,” he whispers, voice cracking.

David doesn’t respond right away, breathing heavily against his cheek, hand spasming against Stiles’ throat as if it’s itching to grab hold and choke. But then he’s moving away, leaving Stiles lying flat on his back on the cold, hard earth.

“It’s Derek isn’t it?” he says calmly, abruptly changing gears yet again. And, wow, Stiles seriously underestimated how crazy this guy would turn out to be.

“Sorry, but I’m going to have to ask for specifics again,” he answers cautiously. David grins madly, reaching down to hoist Stiles up by the front of his shirt and plop him back down roughly on the stool.

“He’s the reason you think this way,” he explains. “The reason you’re so blindly convinced of the power of free will. Deep down, you know - you _know_ \- how dependent we werewolves are on our animal instinct. Hell, everyone’s an animal, if you want to get technical about it. But you’ve convinced yourself otherwise because you have to believe in choice.” He smiles. “Because that’s the only way you convince yourself that the love Derek has for you is more than just animal lust. Right?”

It’s not completely on target; there’s more to it than just that. But it hits close enough to home that Stiles cringes outwardly, and David flashes that sharklike smile, triumphant.

“It’s okay,” he mocks. “We all lie to ourselves about something.” He whistles, and the werewolf guards open the door expectantly. “Lock him with the girl.”

Stiles looks up, startled. “Wait,” he says quickly. “We’re not done. We haven’t made a deal yet.”

“Yes we have.” David spares him one last knowing smirk before strapping the wolf mask back on. “You just haven’t agreed to the terms yet. I will allow you all to live so long as you accept the bite and submit to becoming my mate.”

“But...” Stiles sputters, mind working at a mile a minute. “But I-”

“Save it.” David holds up his palm dismissively. One of the guards grabs Stiles roughly by the back of his shirt and hauls him to his feet. “We’re going on a quick road trip tonight,” David calls as Stiles is dragged away. “After we get there, you can give me your answer.”

The door slams shut and the bag is jammed over Stiles’ head, plunging him into darkness.

***

“Make it fast,” Derek says distractedly, strapping on the bulletproof vest he stole from the Stilinski house. “I’m in a hurry.”

Jackson stares as the vest disappears under Derek’s jacket. “Uh...where are you going?”

Derek glares at him, but Jackson just looks confused, so he sighs and says, “It’s just a precautionary measure. Now what do you need?”

“Huh? Wh- ? Oh. Oh, yeah.” Jackson looks down awkwardly, shuffling back and forth on his feet. “I know you have a lot of things going on right now. Umm...a lot of stuff more important than this, to be honest, but, uh. But still, I figured I should tell you...”

Derek frowns at him for a moment, then spots the dark love-bite bruising the side of Jackson’s neck. He rolls his eyes, returning to what he was doing. “I already know, Jackson.”

And Jesus, the kid actually looks surprised. Idiot. “You do?” he says disbelievingly. “Are you...I mean, are you sure? You’re positive we’re talking about the same-”

“You and Danny are together now,” Derek interrupts impatiently, zipping his jacket up. “That’s what you wanted to tell me, right?”

Jackson flushes, scratching the back of his head. “Umm. Yeah. Yes.”

Derek sits down on the edge of the bed, tying his shoelaces. “Alright, great. Now get out.” 

Jackson freezes, just staring at him. “You’re okay with it?”

Derek turns to give him his best are-you-an-idiot look. “I think it’s pretty obvious I don’t have any issue with homosexuality, if that’s what you’re trying to imply.”

Somehow Jackson’s face burns even redder. “No! No, that’s not it.” He chews on his lip, looking weirdly shy. Which is new for him. 

Derek shifts his body to face the kid, giving him his full attention. “What is it?”

“I just...are you _okay_ with it?” Jackson says uncomfortably. “You’re our Alpha. And we’re pack. And I just...I dunno. I didn’t know if there were rules about this sort of thing or not. Or if you’d have a problem with...me."

And Derek gets it. He nods slowly. “Okay, I see.” He sighs, rubbing his forehead. God, he needs to get a full night’s sleep. “Look, if you’re asking if I think you’re good enough for him or something-”

“That’s not it,” Jackson interrupts hastily. “Well...okay, it is. But that’s not all-”

“Let me finish,” Derek snaps. “Then we never have to talk about this again.” Jackson shuts up. “Good. Alright. I’ll cut right to the chase. Do you love him?”

“Yes,” Jackson replies without hesitation.

“And not as a friend,” Derek adds, eyes narrowing. “Your feelings for him are sexual?”

“Jesus,” Jackson mutters, covering his eyes in embarrassment. “Do you really think I’d let him do _this_ ” - he pulls down his collar to better expose the hickey - “if I didn’t?”

“Uh, yes,” Derek says, holding up his hand to cut Jackson off when he splutters indignantly. “Yes I do. Look, you’re asking me if I have any reservations or complaints about this thing, and I’m being honest with you. This is my one concern. Because I _do_ think you would let him do that, regardless of your feelings. I think that even though your relationship with Scott has grown less tense, even though you and Stiles can now carry on a civil conversation, even though _we_ have started to get along better, you still don’t feel confident that you’re a part of the pack. You’re still lonely, and you’re desperate for love, and I really, truly believe that you would accept it in whatever form you could get it, even if you didn’t feel the same way.”

Jackson looks thoroughly chastised, but his jaw is set and his eyes glint with annoyance. “I love him,” he says firmly. “I mean it.”

Derek nods, patting him on the shoulder briefly as he passes him on the way to the door. “Alright then. Then I approve.”

“Really?” Jackson smiles, and it’s open and hopeful and it looks good on him. He should smile like that more often. Much better than the trademark sneer.

“Really,” Derek agrees. “Consider this me giving you my blessing, or whatever.” He starts through the doorway, pauses, and adds, “And you _are_ a part of this pack. An important part. Don’t doubt that.”

Then he leaves.

***

They meet in an isolated clearing in the woods, far enough away from the town that no one would be able to hear the sound of a gunshot, even without the aid of a silencer.

Meredith’s already there when he arrives, standing upright, tall and beautiful in a long grey trench coat, red scarf wrapped tightly around her neck like a self-fashioned noose, hair flowing down around her ears from underneath the brim of her dark black fedora. She smiles genially at Derek as he emerges from the undergrowth, approaching her slowly.

“I wasn’t sure you’d actually come,” she says, voice somehow cheerful and deadpan at the same time.

“I wasn’t either,” Derek admits. “I’ve actually been here for a few minutes. I wanted to search around first, see if you brought any of your hunter pals.”

She shakes her head, hands tucked casually into the front pockets of her coat. “It’s just you and me.”

Derek growls, low and guttural. “Then you’d better give me a reason not to kill you right now,” he says coldly. “Fast.”

Meredith withdraws her good hand slightly, just enough for Derek to see her fingers wrapped around the handle of a gun. “That, for one,” she says, putting it back. “But also, I think it’s better for both of us to actually have this little chat instead of going through the motions of macho posturing. Don’t you agree?” Derek stays silent, and she smiles at him brightly. “I thought so. Now, would you like to discuss the conditions of your surrender?”

“Don’t even pretend like I’m the one who gets to set the terms,” Derek grunts. “Just tell me what you’re willing to offer. No screwing around.”

She shrugs. “Very well. I can do that.” She winks at him, and he bites his tongue to repress the snarl that wants to escape. “I think you’re actually going to be very pleased. For the most part. In exchange for your personal surrender to me, I am willing to leave Beacon Hills without further incident.” She takes out her damaged hand, examining the stub detachedly. “I will let the children live,” she adds. “All of them. I can’t guarantee they’ll never run into another hunter in their lifetime, but that’s not my problem. They won’t have trouble from me or my family ever again.” She smiles, arching an eyebrow. “Still interested?”

“Forgive me if I doubt the sincerity of your claim,” Derek says drily, “but yes. Keep going, for now.”

“The Argents will have to answer for their sins,” Meredith continues, calm and collected. “This is no concern of yours. Their business with my family goes back further than yours and mine. We’ve known them since before you were born, and their betrayal of our code must be accounted for.”

“ _Your_ code,” Derek repeats, eyebrows knitting together at the middle. “They betrayed your code. Not their own. They left your group because they had different ideas about the moral nature of your line of work. You have no reason to harm them.”

Meredith’s mouth draws into a thin line. She stares at him blankly. “I didn’t think this would be an issue,” she says stiffly. “As I said, this is not your concern.”

“It is when it directly contradicts the first term you promised,” Derek shoots back. “If you harm Allison, you’re harming one of the children. And you just said you wouldn’t do that.”

Meredith smiles, relieved. “Oh, is that it? Well, that’s fine. It’s just the parents I have a quarrel with. The girl will be left out of it.”

“You would leave her an orphan?” Derek snaps, disgusted.

Meredith gives him a look. “Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve done that,” she says softly, and it takes every ounce of willpower Derek has left not to leap at her and rip her heart out of her chest.

“No,” he grits out. “I don’t accept that term.”

“Hmm...” She sucks on her lower lip, closing her eyes thoughtfully. Popping them open, she smiles, looking pleased with herself. “Okay, how about this: they get 24 hours to get out of town. No keeping tabs on them, no contact of any kind. A no-strings-attached 24 hour head start. Is that acceptable?”

Derek thinks for a minute, scratching the back of his head. “I get to tell them, right?” he asks suspiciously. “I get to tell them they have a head start?”

“Of course.”

He nods in agreement. “Alright then. What else?”

She straightens up, looking at him evenly. “That’s it.”

Derek stares at her. “That’s it,” he repeats dully. 

Meredith beams at him. “That’s all,” she says, voice sing-song and chipper. “You surrender here and now, and your pack is free to live out their days in peace. The Argents will suffer if I catch up with them, but I’m in no hurry to exact revenge. They can wait.”

“What guarantee do I have that you’ll keep your word?” Derek asks, fists clenched at his side. “And I how do I know this isn’t some bullshit trick? I don’t want you backing out of this deal based on a technicality, like some weird wording of the agreement or something.”

“Oh, Derek,” she says, voice sickeningly sweet. “You _don’t_ have any guarantee. You have to take my word for it.” She shrugs nonchalantly. “Besides, you’ll be dead. The affairs of the living won’t be your concern anymore.”

“They’re my concern now,” Derek snarls. “I care about my pack. I won’t let you fuck them over.”

Meredith tilts her head, pursing her lips out, fluttering her eyelashes mockingly. “I think I understand now,” she murmurs. “I think I understand what the Stilinski boy sees in you.” Derek bristles, growling at her mentioning Stiles, but she ignores him. “You may have a tough outer shell, but you’re a big softie at heart. Just like him. You really do love them all don’t you? Your pack, I mean?” She bites her lip, reigning in her laughter. “You don’t want to, but you do. You care.”

“If that’s the way you see it,” Derek barks out sharply, “then why the fuck are you so hellbent on killing me? If I’m a person capable of loving and caring and being selfless, and I haven’t done harm to human beings, then _why_? Explain that to me.”

She frowns, and her expression morphs into something that chills Derek to the very bone: confusion. Genuine confusion. Like she seriously doesn’t understand his question.

“Because,” she says kindly, as if explaining something simple to a very small child, “that’s the way of nature, sweetheart. You are a threat to the purity of humanity. And you _have_ done harm to us.”

“Not to anyone who didn’t deserve it,” he replies, frustrated. “Only in self-defense.”

“The child,” she explains patiently. “The sheriff’s son. You’ve tainted him. You’ve defiled his innocence. It’s one of the greatest crimes against nature, you know. To lie with a beast.” She sighs dramatically. “Oh, he probably thinks he did it of his own volition, but you and I both know that’s not true. You coerced him. You took what was not yours to take. And you must be punished for it.”

“You’re sick,” Derek says, voice coming out strained in a mish-mash of stupefied wonder and horror. “You’re fucking insane.”

She shakes her head, smiling sadly at him. “You probably wouldn’t have been such a bad guy,” she says, so frighteningly gentle and sympathetic, it’s seriously disturbing. “If you hadn’t been a wolf, I mean. It’s a shame, really.” Her gaze turns stern. “But you are one. And more to the point, you are an Alpha. You’ve turned innocents for your own intentions. You’ve ruined their lives for nothing. You deserve this. _They_ deserve this, too, but I’m giving them a free pass for now.”

“For now?” Derek cuts in, anger flaring up hot. “That’s not the deal. If I surrender, you leave forever. Is that clear?”

“I’m not referring to myself,” she retorts. “They’re werewolves. They’ll give in to their inner nature eventually. And when they do, someone will take notice. Someone will bring them to justice. It doesn’t have to be me.” She takes a step forward, eyes piercing and icy cold. “No more talk. Are you in or out?”

Derek shakes his head in disgust, walking away from the clearing without stopping. “Out,” he spits, and Meredith’s eyes turn hard, her mouth drawing into a thin line. “Fuck this shit. This was such a God damn waste of time. I’ll take my chances.” He points a finger at her, eyes blazing red as he marches away. “I’m going to kill you myself,” he promises. “You can count on it.”

“Go then!” she calls after him, furious, literally shaking with rage. “But know that you’re not just signing your own death warrant, you’re dragging your pack with you. I will slay your loved ones before your eyes and flay you bare on the altar of their corpses, Derek Hale! Mark my words, filth of the earth!”

***

Lydia sits in patient silence while Stiles scans the dusty pages, the creases in his brow deepening with every line he reads.

When he’s finished, he looks up, dumbfounded, and shakes his head resolutely. 

“No,” he says. “Absolutely not.”

Lydia groans. “God, I knew you would say that. Now tell me why the fuck not!”

Stiles flails helplessly, staring off at the dimming torch on the wall. “Well...I just...Jesus, Lydia. A lot of reasons!”

“Okay, name one.”

He points to one of the pages, tapping his finger at the most concerning section. “Oh, gee, I dunno. How about that? ‘ _Such a child would be left with the capacity to wreak havoc upon all living things without discrimination or mercy._ ’ I mean, fucking hell...”

“It says capacity, Stiles,” Lydia snaps impatiently. “It says capacity. Not duty, not mission. It’s not a guarantee. It just means that I’ll have enough power to kick the shit out of my enemies if I _want_ to."

“You want us to risk that on the phrasing of a single word of an old legend that has probably been retranslated hundreds of times?” Stiles asks incredulously. “Even if - and I’m not saying for a second that I believe this for sure - even if this is true...even if you _are_ one of...these things...It’s not worth the risk. It’s way too dangerous. You could go insane and start a killing spree or something.”

“Or,” Lydia retorts, jutting her chin out defiantly, “it could be the leg up we need to end this thing. I could be like, whatever, our secret weapon.”

Stiles stares at her. He takes her hand in his, gripping tightly. “Please,” he says softly. “Please trust me. This is bad, bad idea. We already have a plan. A plan we _know_ can actually work.”

“We don’t know that,” Lydia says. “At least, I don’t know that. You haven’t explained the plan to me. I still don’t understand why you’re so confident.” She waves around the room. “Look at where we are. Are you seriously telling me this is part of your super secret puppet mastery?”

Stiles snorts, but nods firmly. “Yes. Yes it is. I just need a little more time.” He looks at her earnestly, eyes wide and pleading. “You said you’d be with me until the end,” he reminds her. “We’re almost there, I promise. I just need a little more time. Don’t do anything rash. Don’t provoke anyone into biting you.”

She looks at him through narrowed eyes for a moment, then sighs. “Alright, fine. We’ll do it your way.”

Stiles beams at her. “Thank you.”

“Whatever,” she grumbles. She points at the book in his hands. “Just remember that if the story is true, we’re going to have another problem to deal with when we get back home.” She doesn’t say Meredith’s name, but Stiles can tell by the look on her face that they’re both thinking about her.

Stiles’ smile fades. “Yeah,” he murmurs. 

He can’t argue with that.

***

For the first time in a long while, Derek counts himself lucky.

Lucky that he’s dealing with a crazy person instead of a practical killing machine. You can’t count on crazy people to be rational in negotiations, but you _can_ count on severe lapses of logic that might easily be taken advantage of.

He can see Meredith’s weakness now. It’s apparent in the way she considers the Argents guilty for not following her family’s code. It’s apparent in the way she chose to let Stiles live on the night she killed his father because of “bad sportsmanship.” It’s apparent in the way she didn’t try to shoot Derek in the back after their conversation in the woods.

She’s insane, but she believes every batshit crazy word she spews. And more importantly, she holds everyone else to the same standards she holds herself.

Which is why, after their attempts at negotiation are finished, it’s easy for Derek to double back and track her from a distance, following her as she walks back to her car on the side of the highway and running along through the trees as she drives back to her motel hideout on the outskirts of town.

Crouched behind a rusty jalopy in the parking lot, watching Meredith draw the curtains closed on her room window, he whips out his cell phone and dials Chris Argent’s number. The dial tone sounds, and Derek honestly can’t believe that she actually expected him to play fair.

“I’ve got her location,” he says in lieu of greeting when the hunter picks up. “Call Jeff and Samuel. I’m going to give you the address.”

***

It’s about an hour-long drive. Stiles is dragged from his library lockup, bag once more shoved unceremoniously over his head as the guards escort him from the bowels of the mine to the car. Lydia is left behind.

He sits in the back, crammed between two sweaty miners. Even through the bag, he feels inundated by the stench of wet dog and black soot.

The car turns off-road, as evidenced by the bumpy change in terrain, and they’re moving upward for a time, up through the hills of some place unknown. And then they’ve arrived, and the bag is being lifted, and Stiles blinks in the evening redness, absorbing the sight.

He’s there: David Moss, standing on the hilltop, face unmasked, tall and bare-chested like a Greek god of war, arm outstretched, beckoning Stiles to join him as he surveys the valley below.

One of the werewolf guards gives him a little shove from behind, and Stiles stumbles forward, shivering in the sudden cold as the sun disappears further and further into the maw of the horizon. He comes to a stop at David’s side, shivering for an entirely different reason when the Alpha’s naked arm stretches across his back, pulling him flush against his side.

“Look,” David whispers, voice low and conspiratorial. “Look there.”

Down in the valley, there’s a quaint wooden cottage, kept far from the reach of any town, concealed from all around by the shelter of the forest, visible only from the high vantage point of the hilltop on which they stand.

“A pack lives there,” David tells Stiles informatively. “The Schlesinger pack.” He smiles fondly down at the little cottage. “I gave them the same ultimatum I delivered to Derek. One month ago, to be exact.” He looks at Stiles, eyes burning hot and wild and alive. “Time’s up,” he says softly.

Stiles hears a sound, soft at first, then gathering in volume. It rises up from the valley, and he leans forward, squinting in the dusk to find its source. He sees nothing for a moment...

And then:

Behold! They come, marauders in the dark, raiders at the end of the day, werewolf soldiers armed to the teeth with knives of steel and iron and guns with hollow-point bullets and shining pickaxes hanging by the loopholes of tattered leather belts and clattering like lances at their sides as their fangs sprout forth and eyes burn neon blue in the night air as they charge forth from all angles, spewing forth venom and hatred and bloody murder, spilling out from the trees and swarming the cottage like locusts, latching to the walls as the wood splinters beneath their claws and climbing up to enter through glass-pane windows, indifferent to the cries of the living things within the walls as they rip from their beds the adults and children alike, pulling them out into the mud and the filth by the roots of their hair, cackling like demons as teeth like razor blades slice into skin, shearing flesh from bone and bringing geysers of blood to the surface as the feast of death begins. The werewolf children, young and old, shriek to the night, howling their anguish as their parents’ throats are torn to shreds by claws, eyeballs punctured in their sockets as fingernails pierce the gelatinous membrane and the wild creatures of the darkness guzzle the flavorful juices from all available sources. The men’s cocks are severed from their bodies and thrown aside, and the women are penetrated by jagged daggers fashioned from stone as their stomachs are eviscerated and disemboweled, leaving sopping entrails strewn along the fresh-cut lawn as they weep in the dark, tears falling softly without a sound. A fire sparks to life in the heart of the house, wrapping its devil’s tongue around the outer shell, reducing wood and rock and brick to embers as the walls come crumbling down. And as the slaughter comes to a close, Stiles can see an overzealous participant in the carnage rip from the womb of a pregnant woman a nearly-formed fetus of an infant werewolf and bash its brains to mush against the forest floor, tossing the remains into the trees and licking the remnants from his teeth with gusto.

Stiles’ knees turn to jelly, and his vision whites out as he vomits on the hilltop, shoulders shaking uncontrollably.

“Do you see?” David says, his tone soft, his hand coming down to rest on Stiles’ back. “Do you see?” Stiles can’t even work up the energy to shove him away.

“You son of a bitch,” he mutters, wiping bile off the corner of his mouth with his sleeve, eyes stinging wet as the wind reddens his cheeks. “You son of a bitch...”

“Will you submit?” David asks, squatting down to look Stiles in the eye. “Will you submit, now that you see? Will you be my mate to save your pack from this path they have chosen?”

"I'm going to kill you," Stiles tells him, eyes shining with hatred. 

"Will you submit?" David repeats, voice soft.

Stiles holds out his arm viciously. “Yes,” he snarls, not bothering to wipe away his tears. “Do it.”

David smiles at him sadly.

Then bites.

...Stiles takes a deep breath, eyes screwed shut in pain as the teeth pierce his vein and David suckles at the wound. He feels faint.

The werewolf pulls away, mouth stained red. He smiles gently at Stiles.

Then his smile slips away, replaced by confusion. He licks at the corner of his mouth, tasting the blood. "That undertaste," he murmurs. It takes a moment, but then his eyes light up in recognition, widening dramatically.

Still shuddering in pain, Stiles grins madly. "Gotcha," he whispers.

**Author's Note:**

> Two more left. I promise Derek and Stiles will reunite in the next installment. (And what a reunion that shall be...)


End file.
